


The Beast in the Cage

by NeitherShameN0rTalent



Category: Scooby Doo - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 06:06:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11434734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeitherShameN0rTalent/pseuds/NeitherShameN0rTalent
Summary: Shaggy has been bitten by a werewolf and Fred must sit out the night of the full moon, with him. But, Shaggy's wolfish instincts may turn out to be too much for Fred to handle. Slight AU, wherein the gang has discovered that the supernatural actually exists.





	The Beast in the Cage

Fred Jones stepped into the dark basement where his friend was caged. He switched on the light, revealing a rec-room turned jail. Pool table, air hockey, foosball, pinball machine, and arcade consoles had been shoved to the walls, away from the barred cell in the far corner. It had been half a joke when they'd had it installed. He and Velma agreed that it could prove useful in case Mystery Incorporated had to detain a suspect until the proper authorities could be brought in, but they hadn't had occasion to fill it, until recently. 

With the reward money Mystery Inc. had received from the state, for catching the Animus Killer, they had bought and renovated the old Whitcomb place, on the far side of Kuhlsville. The Victorian house now served as home-base for the detective agency's inquiries into supernatural hoaxes, but, in recent years, they'd finally broken through the veil of rubber masks, trap doors, and projectors into something all too genuine. 

The first time the cell had known an occupant was over a year ago, during the case of the Goetic Murders. They had been obliged to summon a dangerous spirit, to answer a few questions. The summoning triangle had been drawn inside the cage, just in case the spirit's physical form decided to get rambunctious. 

The second occupant had been Denise Robbins, the reporter who moonlighted as an actual vampire, one of many vampires who had perpetrated what the press had called the “Son of Dracula Killings”. Fred himself was forced to drive a stake through her heart and burn her. The screams Fred had successfully blocked out, but the haunting look of bliss Denise had on her face, as the flames finally took her, had stuck with him. It made him wonder, in times of danger, darkness, and solitude, if fates worse than death were more than just poetical cliché. If so, perhaps the cell's current resident was facing such a fate, now.

“How you feeling, pal?” Fred asked. The cell's lighting had been shot, during the last summer thunderstorm, leaving its confines in shadow. Fred could make out the silhouette of his fallen friend, curled up and shivering on the mattress they had dragged there for him. There was no answer, except a low groan. “Hey, you still awake?” Fred pressed, staying well away from the bars, as Velma had instructed, “Didn't fall asleep on me, did you, buddy?” 

The silhouette stirred, propping itself up on its hands. “F-Freddie? Like, where are we?” 

Fred sighed and shuffled closer to the cell, “We're at the house, Shag; you're okay,” 

In the shadows, Shaggy touched the bloodstains on his shoulder, face and in the messy thatch of hair on his head.  
“Zoinks! Like, is all this mine? ”

“Yeah, it's yours, Shag, but, but you're gonna be alright.”

Shaggy prodded the crusting red stain on his torso. “Bite's gone...how long have I been out?”

Fred wet his lips and tried not to let strain creep into his voice, “Not long, Shag; it's only been an hour or so.”

There was silence for a few minutes, as Shaggy stared at himself, in the dark. “I can feel it, Freddie. Like, there's something bad in my blood, man.”

Fred knew he was standing up too straight and too stiff to be reassuring, but if he let himself relax, he was sure he'd just collapse. “Really, Shag, you're gonna be fine. Daph and Velma went to the coven. They're gonna make a potion that'll-” Shaggy made a hurried attempt to stand, and doubled over with a pained gasp. Fred took another step toward the bars, holding his hand out in a gesture of help.

“Like, don't bullshit a bullshitter, Freddie. I really went and screwed the pooch, this time, huh? Or-or maybe the pooch screwed me,” Shaggy seemed to fall forward in pain, but he laughed, high and nervous, “You heard what the wolf-man said, Fred; it's- it's sorta like AIDS; once you got it, you got it until it gets you!”

“No!” Fred was close to the bars, now, straining to make out Shaggy's features, “No, we're gonna fix this, Shag. You're gonna be fine.” 

“Fuck off with that shit, Fred!” Shaggy growled savagely, “This ain't no mask you can tug off; shit's permanent.” Shaggy fell back, further into the darkness; his breathing was labored.

Fred's hands were on the bars, peering through the gloom to catch a glimpse of his friend.  
“Okay,” he bargained, hoping it would calm Shaggy down, “You're right, it's bad, but Daphne said she thinks it's manageable. So, you'd just hafta take a potion before every full moon, and we'd put you down here, and you'd be fine,”

Another silence. A long one this time. Shaggy had retreated to the back of the cell, and Fred couldn't even discern his outline against the rest of the black.  
“Hey, Freddie?” Shaggy's voice came, at last; he sounded in better humor, “Like, remember the werewolf case we had a few years back? The one where the werewolf pack turned out to be a bunch of crazy environmentalists? Y'know, back when things made sense?”

Fred grinned, “Yeah! I remember! They were a nudist colony, and we had to go undercover. They even made Scooby take off his collar! I couldn't believe Velma had Ronnie James Dio inked on her ass! ”  
They shared a minute of laughter. 

“And, like, do you remember that crazy old trapper who was convinced they were actual werewolves, from like German folklore, or some shit?” Shaggy went on. 

“Yeah, yeah! He nearly died, swallowing wolf's bane, 'cause he thought it'd make him 'immune to the curse',”

“And, like, after we, ahem, exposed the nudists, didn't he give us his hunting rifle with silver bullets, and stuff?”

Fred was in gales, recalling the absurd solemnity with which the old man had handed over his ancient .22, “Yeah! I've still got it up in the trophy case!”

“Great!” Shaggy said, and his laughter stopped, “I want you to kill me, Freddie.”

Fred shook out a few more guffaws before the request registered, “What?”

Shaggy surged out of the darkness, into the sliver of light at the edge of the cell, throwing himself against the bars. “Fucking KILL ME!” he roared. Fred fell backward, onto his ass, and scrambled away from his monstrous friend, swearing in shock and fear. He hauled himself to his feet on the edge of the pool table, and tried to face Shaggy with a semblance of calm, but his breath wouldn't come steady, and he could feel himself sweating. 

Shaggy's irises were yellow, with lupine pupils; his canines protruded well below his lips. His knuckles were white as his fists clenched the bars. He was crying, “Just put me down, man, please! I wanna die while I'm still me, not some fucking rabid animal. Please, Freddie! I don't want Velm, and Daph, and Scoob to remember me trying to kill 'em before I bite it! I- I wanna be the guy who came baked all to hell to every investigation and threw up from eating too many Scooby-Snacks. The one who got so paranoid, he pissed himself right in the middle of the Case of the Demonic Disco and had to change into a skirt. Please...” As he spoke, his voice seemed to come from lower in his throat, rather than his usual reedy, warble. His sobs became more bitter. 

Fred felt his paternal instincts kick in; he walked toward cell, with his arms open, “Shaggy, please, pal, let's just-”

“STAY THE FUCK AWAY!” Shaggy shouted, bearing his fangs and glaring with his wolfish eyes, “I'm not your fucking pal anymore, man! You're just fucking meat! Like the biggest, juiciest malt-shop burger I've ever gotten my mouth around! Try and bring that hug in and I'll bite a nice big chunk outta your FUCKING NECK! Put me down!” The hair on Shaggy's forearms and chest had always been thick, but Fred could see it visibly growing, becoming darker, denser as he raged. On his face, it looked like his chin-beard and sideburns were trying to merge. Fred put a hand on his forehead to shield his eyes from the sight.

“Calm down, Shag,” he said, “Just wait until Daph and Velma get here with the medicine. Just give it a chance to work. If it doesn't, we'll try something else. Daphne's coven knows every kind of magic in the world, and Velma has more government contacts than she has awards for academic excellence. We'll find something that works!”

“Bullshit, Freddie!” Shaggy seethed, “Wait for the brain and the tits to cook up plan-B? Fuck that! It's up to the leader to make these executive fucking decisions, not leave it up to the bitches!” 

Something in Shaggy's tone reminded Fred of his own, when talking to his father in heated moments, and it was his father Fred now channeled. He stood to his full, imposing height, straight back, chest out, brow furrowed in his sternest scowl.  
“You're right, Norville,” he said, “I'm in charge, I make the decisions, and I've just made mine. We're waiting for the girls to get back with the brew, so sit your fuzzy, hippie ass back down, and stop whining like a high-school goth chick, on her period. Smoke a fucking bowl, if you have to; just chill the fuck out.”

Shaggy snarled and rattled the bars of his cage. Fred locked eyes with him, and for a few moments they stared each other down. Finally, Shaggy made a noise of disgust, and threw himself upon the mattress. 

After waiting a few minutes to see that Shaggy stayed peaceable, he went upstairs and called Velma.

“Hey, Freddie, how is he?” Velma's characteristically dry voice was cracked with worry.

He took a breath, tried to sound like a doctor on a medical drama, cool and pefunctory “He's scared, and in shock; he was talking about silver bullets, earlier, but I've got him calmed down, now.”

“Good, keep him as calm as you can. In fact, I'd recommend giving him his usual form of botanical recreation; all these old grimoires say that negative emotions like panic, anger, and fear can speed up the initial transformation. Is he showing any signs, yet?”

“Yeah, he's a lot hairier than usual, his eyes have gone yellow, he's started growing fangs, and his ears are pointed. He's also a lot more aggressive.” 

Velma hissed in frustration, “Jinkies, it's happening faster than I thought. Okay, after midnight, he should be through the worst of it, but Daphne says she has some wolf's bane growing in the back garden, and some silver dust in the chest in her work room; if the changes keep coming, and he gets out, make a circle of of it, and stand inside. He shouldn't be able to hurt you, as long as you don't leave it. ”

Fred silently prayed it wouldn't come to that, and asked how the potion was coming along.

Velma sighed, “Not great; it's really esoteric, all the books disagree on the exact formula, and some of the reagents are kinda hard to find in a small, American suburb. We're doing our best, though. If it works, it'll keep him mostly human when the full moon rises, and it'll give us some time to research a cure. Oh, Scooby wants to talk to you, hold on.” 

The speaker crackled as Velma held her phone against the Great Dane's ear.  
“Rello, Reddie,” Scooby whimpered, articulating the words, in his uncanny way, from somewhere in his throat, “Raggy rokay?”

Fred tried to keep the emotion from his voice, “Heya, Scooby! Shag's doing okay; he's just a little shook up.”

“Raybe rooby-racks relp?”  
Fred laughed and tears formed in the corners of his eyes, “Yeah, Scoob, I'll give him some Scooby-Snacks; that'll perk him up,” 

“Reah! Ranks Reddie,” Scooby said, seemingly confident that, as long as Shaggy had an appetite, he'd ultimately pull through, “Rere's Relma,” Fred could hear the phone changing hands.

“Actually, Scooby might have a point; familiar things like favorite foods might be good for Shaggy, right now; keep him more himself,” 

“Why can't Scooby be here, Velm? He's Shag's best friend; wouldn't he have the best chance of keeping him human?”

Velma heaved an exasperated sigh; Fred could just picture her kneading her temples “No, Freddie; lycanthropes react violently to domestic animals, even familiar ones.”

“C'mon, Velma, this is Shaggy and Scooby we're talking about; they're practically brothers, for Christ sake!”

“Jinkies, Freddie, do you think I wanna risk Shaggy waking up in the morning covered in his best friend?” 

Fred felt chastened. He hadn't really considered the possibility; it was too unnerving. “Right, right. I get it.”

“Look, Freddie, I gotta get back, they need all hands on deck for this concoction,”

“Yeah, thanks Velm, I'll go grab the stuff for that circle,”

“Freddie, stay with him.” Velma's voice sounded small and hushed, “And not just because it'll slow the change; just...stay with him, okay?” 

“I promise, Velm.” 

They said their goodbyes and ended the call. Fred went to the garden and plucked up the blue-flowering wolf's bane, by the roots. He then went to Daphne's room, just off the kitchen, and rifled through the trunk beneath the small window, until he found a black velvet pouch of powdered silver. Back in the kitchen, he hauled a couple of boxes of Scooby-Snacks from the cupboard, and went upstairs to Shaggy's den. The inside was like something from a 1960's studio. The floor was covered in orange shag carpet; the wallpaper was cream-colored, with vertical stripes of orange and green that bulged psychedelically. Lava lamps, plasma balls, black lights, and whirling spheres of colored lenses glowed in the dark around a circular bed covered in zebra, leopard, and tiger print coverlets. The walls were hung with framed album posters from the 70's and 80's. A disco ball hung from the ceiling. A wood-paneled, spindle-legged, bunny-eared television stood in the corner, connected to an old NES; before it sat an immense bean-bag chair. The whole room smelled like cheap incense masking expensive weed. Fred smiled at his friend's little temple to hedonism, and the purity of it. 

He went to the black-and-white checkered nightstand, and withdrew a plastic bag stuffed with greenery, a glass pipe, and a lighter. He was sure Shaggy would've preferred the hookah, which was currently the centerpiece of a great mound of pillow cushions, but Fred didn't like his chances of dragging the giant thing downstairs, in one piece. 

“Got some goodies for you, Shag!” Fred announced when he returned to the basement. There was no reply. Fred noticed Shaggy's sleeping form on the mattress and took the opportunity to haul an enormous armchair into the center of the room, and arrange the wolf's bane in a neat ring around it. He dusted the stems with the silver, placed the snacks, weed, and pipe within reach of the bars, and sat down inside the circle. The minutes ticked away, in silence.

“Freddie...” Shaggy's voice was thin and tired, but it sounded human, “you should go,”

“No, way, Shag! I just brought you munchies and half your stash. I wanna watch you get stoned off your ass and listen to you wax verbose about the Nixon-Reptilianoid-Hollow Earth conspiracy; it's boring just sitting here,”

Shaggy's silhouette shifted, “Fred, I'm sorry I freaked out, man, but seriously, you should, like, skedaddle,”

“I'm staying here, Shag,” Fred said, “Scoob told me to feed you Scooby-Snacks until you feel better, and that's the plan,”

This earned a laugh, “I love you, too, Scooby-Doo,” Shaggy muttered, “But werewolf number one is still on the loose, Freddie; you know he just noshed on me to buy some time,”

“Let him,” Fred said, trying to sound unconcerned, “He's not gonna get too far, especially now we know what he looks like when he's got the fur off,” 

Shaggy grunted, and his form seemed to twist, “F-Freddie, I-I don't wanna hurt you,” he whimpered, and Fred could hear his voice descending into his chest, in a low growl, “but I think I will; I think I'll hurt you real bad, man,” 

“Hey, stay with me, Shag,” Fred said, standing up, but not leaving the circle, “Nobody's getting hurt,”

Shaggy curled into the fetal position, clutching his chest, “Fred! There's somethin'- somethin' trying to rip outta me. The moon's out there and it's p-pulling at me.. ...Ohjesuschristfuckithurts!” His form writhed and contorted. Fred could make out fingernails that had grown into claws. Shaggy's convulsions pitched and rolled, reaching their peak. He screamed, and then collapsed. Fred called his name, but only ragged breathing answered. 

“Freddie,” Shaggy's voice finally came, “I can't get that girl outta my head, the one at the first crime scene; she was painted all over the fucking walls, man; I don't want that to be you. Please, Freddie, just run away,” 

“That's not gonna happen, Shag,” Fred said, but didn't mention the protective circle, “You're not gonna kill anyone,” 

Shaggy chuckled, dark and bitter, “You're right, Freddie,” he said, “I don't think I'd do that to you,” 

Feeling he'd scored a point, Fred pressed, “Right. Just, just treat it like a bad trip. Okay Shag? You just gotta ride it out, until it's over, yeah?”

In the half-shadows of the cell, Shaggy stood, and his body seemed to unfold. Lean arms, unnaturally stretched and lengthened, with immense, clawed fingers; tall, pointed ears; broad shoulders covered in scruff; long legs that obliged him to squat lest his head brush against the ceiling. Fred could still discern the outline of Shaggy's unruly mop of hair, but it seemed to spill down his cheeks and neck, becoming something of a mane. 

“I don't think I'd kill you,” Shaggy went on, casting away his normal voice, like a cheap prop. He spoke in a bestial rumble, “I think I'd do worse than that, Freddie, 'ol pal, 'ol buddy, 'ol chum,” Freakish, furred hands came into the light to grip the bars, jackknife-length claws scraping against the metal, “And I think you'd like it, too,”

Fred's mouth went dry, “What're you talking about, Shag?”

Shaggy growled from the shadows, “C'mon, Freddie, you seriously think I didn't notice, man? You and Daphne? Like, gimme a break! You guys might fool the football team and your bible-thumpin' dad, but you really think I can't tell a cocksucker when I see one, Fred?”  
Fred could only stand in a cold sweat, with the blood screaming through his chest and ears.

“Please, I caught you sneakin' peeks at my piece when we went to that nudist place; heard you talking about it with Daph, later on. Never seen an uncut one before, huh, Fred? Not one as big as mine, I'll bet! Hee, hee, hee!” 

Fred Jones flushed red, as he recalled the juvenile, giggling conversation he and Daphne had held, after that particular mystery. 

“I always wondered why you never smoked a bowl with me, Fred. Too afraid you'd loosen up and try somethin' frisky? I would've let you. Like, free love and all that, right?” The claws fondled and stroked the cell bars obscenely.  
Fred found his voice, and stammered, “Sh-Shag, it's just the wolf talking; just calm down and it'll go away,”

Shaggy threw his head back in a hoarse cackle,“That's the sick thing about it, Freddie-boy!” he said, “it's totally the wolf, but it's me, too; it's the wolf that was inside, the whole time; it's like, the bite was the key that let it out,”

Shaggy leaned forward, his face sliding into the light. It was a wolf's head, but articulate, with the minutiae of Shaggy's features: his leanness, his unruly hair, his expressive brow. A sickening grin was spread across the muzzle. “So, you'd better run away, Freddie,” he cooed, “Unless you wanna see if we can't let your wolf out, too. I've got a nice, thick key that'll do the job,” Shaggy thrust his furred hips against the bars, his erection jutting through his tattered bell-bottoms. The transformation had darkened the flesh and engorged the veins, but it was still human-shaped. The tip of his foreskin drooled a thick strand of fluid. Freddy stared in reeling silence for longer than was appropriate, before looking away.

“You're not gonna scare me off like that, Shag,” he said, “we're sitting this out, together.” He fell back in the chair, hoping it looked like resolve, on his part. 

“Zoinks, you're too sly, for me, man,” Shaggy mocked, “You're a real pal, stickin' through this, with me. Hey, I could use that hug, now, buddy,” He leered at Fred, and his cock throbbed, between his legs. Fred crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling. Shaggy struck the bars his fists, and barked in frustration. “C'mon, you fucking cock-teasing faggot!” he snapped, “Get in here, or get the fuck out! I know you want it; I can smell that pretty blond dick getting all hot and hard for me.”

Fred put his head in his hands and covered his eyes, “Look, Shag,” he began, trying to separate his emotions from the rising lump in his pants, “even if I was interested, I couldn't fool around with you, like this. It's like you're drunk; it wouldn't be right. If you remember this in the morning, we'll talk about it then,”

“C'mon, man,” Shaggy begged, going down on his haunches, a newly grown tail lashing behind him, “you don't hafta open the door, just, like, suck me through the bars,” He illustrated by giving the proffered member a few strokes, “Hell, I'd even let you fuck me, if you want; got some tight, virgin tail back here, you know what I mean?” Fred looked his friend in the eyes, but said nothing.  
“fffFUCK!” Shaggy roared, whirling around to savage the mattress with his claws, easily ripping it in two, tearing out the foam and scattering it about the cage, hurling springs in all directions. After it was well and truly gutted, he hefted its cloth carcass, slamming it against the wall. He raged against every solid object and surface within reach, before throwing himself against the bars, baring his fangs at Fred. “You think you're safe inside that stinking fucking circle,” he seethed, and Fred felt cold fear drop into the pit of his stomach, “Yeah, yeah, I fucking smell the reek of that plant shit, man, and it ain't gonna do a motherfucking thing to stop me, if I get outta here. I'm gonna fuck you, Freddie; I'm gonna fuck your ass until you squeal, and beg, and bleed!” He laughed and foamed as he spoke. Fred cringed. If it was anyone besides Shaggy, he could deal; he'd heard bad guys talk tough before but, even with the deep wolf's voice there was still so much of the Shaggy he knew in the words. It made him sick, and scared, and hard.  
Shaggy snapped, and snarled, and swore, backing into the shadows, and finally lapsing into silence, except for heavy breaths. Fred covered his face with his hands and trembled.  
“I'm sorry, Freddie,” Shaggy's real voice said, bringing Fred to his feet. 

“Is that you, Shag?” he asked, unable to see his friend in the cell's dark.

“Yeah, I think, like- I think I got most of it outta my system, dude,” Shaggy said, gasping. Fred checked the watch on his wrist; it showed half-past twelve. Shaggy was choking back a sob, “I'm sorry, man; I didn't mean what I said, but, maybe, in the morning we could talk about it, right? You being here- I mean, I'm glad it's you Freddie, and I wanna be there for you, too,”

Fred nodded, “Yeah, we can talk about it the morning, definitely, pal,” 

Shaggy groaned, “Zoinks, man! I feel like there's a whole family of hangovers doing drum solos in my head,” 

Fred laughed, “The girls should be here anytime, with the potion; I'm sure that'll fix you right up, Shag,”

“Man, I hope so,” he moaned, “Hey, Freddie? I think some medicinal herbage might take the edge off, until Velm and Daph get back with the juice; do you think you could grab my pipe?”

In his frenzy, Shaggy had knocked the bag well away from the bars, just a few feet beyond the circle. Fred took a step, then hesitated.

“You don't hafta get close, man; just kick it over here, would ya?” Shaggy pleaded. 

Fred strode warily over the perimeter of the circle. When Shaggy didn't react, he sighed and took another step toward the bag and felt his shirtfront seized by a clawed hand at the end of an elongated, bestial arm. He was lifted off his feet and hauled forward, the impact with the bars knocking the breath from his lungs. His head lolled and, with effort, he looked up into the leering face of his friend. “Like, gotcha, pretty-boy,” the wolf-voice said. Raising another, freakish arm, it bent back one of the bars in a screech of twisting metal. Fred, still too punch-drunk to resist, was pulled through the gap, into the cell and pinned against the concrete wall. “Aww, Freddie,” Shaggy groaned as he bathed Fred's face and neck in long, slow licks, “you shoulda left when I gave you the chance, man; you smell too good to let go,” Fear, adrenaline, and arousal shot through Fred's system, in alarming quantities. He considered it a miracle that he hadn't pissed himself from sheer fright, and fought feebly against the iron strength of Shaggy's arms. “Fffffuck, yeah, Fred; struggle, man!” Shaggy moaned into his ear, unphased by the resistance, “Even with all those tight jock-muscles, you still feel like a fuckin' rag-doll,” Shaggy held Fred against the wall with a single clawed hand against his chest, the other hooked Fred's shirts, shredding them away, like corn husks, revealing his quaking, muscled chest and abdomen, hairless except for a thin trail of gold spilling down to his groin. Shaggy pressed his cold nose against Fred's bare skin and snuffled in his scent. “Zoinks, dude, you smell like cock and clean ass, and you taste like a fucking steak!” Shaggy ran his tongue down Fred's front, making his way to Fred's belt-line. Fred felt the heat of Shaggy's breath on the mound in his pants and writhed.

“Shaggy, please, I'm scared, man. Stop!” Fred sobbed. 

“No can do, pal.” Shaggy answered, and tore through Fred's belt with a gnash of his teeth, tearing away the front of his pants and boxers. Fred felt the cool, basement air on his erection, and found himself exposed. “Fuck, yeah, dude!” Shaggy growled, lashing Fred's cock with his tongue. Fred tensed, feeling the sudden, spiking orgasm, but Shaggy withdrew before he could finish. Fred was flipped around, with his face pressed against the concrete. He felt the remains of his pants fall from him, and the cleft of his buttocks suddenly parted. He panicked, protesting loudly, aiming a clumsy mule-kick the werewolf. He was arrested by the vice-grip of Shaggy's claws, and the sudden penetration of his wolf's tongue. Fred let out a strangled cry. Slowly, the tongue worked him open, made him slick with thick spittle. Shaggy gasped and stood behind him, placing his muzzle on Fred's shoulder, “That was a little too easy, Freddie-boy; you haven't been fucking around on me, have you, man?” Fred couldn't tell if Shaggy was teasing or threatening him; he shook his head vehemently. Shaggy giggled, “Yeah, I can't see you getting' fucked in a back-alley, Freddie; I bet you've got a whole box of toys stashed around here, somewhere.” Fred thought of the collection beneath the false bottom of the footlocker, in his room, but said nothing. He felt Shaggy's cock wedge between his buttocks, crying out as it strained against his hole. Shaggy's muzzle was against his ear again. “Shhh, just lemme in Freddy.” he rumbled, and it sounded almost tender. Fred did his best to relax, in spite of the desperation and careening terror. He knew Shaggy was going to take him, one way or another, that he couldn't help but take him, like this. There was pain, but no more than when Fred was being rough with himself. 

“Please, don't break me, Shag,” he chanted under his breath, “Please don't break me,” 

Shaggy moaned as he sank into Fred, “Aww, like, why would I wanna break you, man? Can't do this again, if I break you.” Shaggy's furred thighs met Fred's skin, and Fred was full, his erection ached and dripped, before him. Shaggy panted Fred's name into his ear, with each shallow thrust. With painful slowness, Shaggy increased his pace and depth, until he was hilted in Fred, forcing their hips to churn together. In spite of himself, Fred bellowed and painted the wall in front of him. “Fuck, like, I can feel you clenching, Freddie! I'm gonna-” Shaggy howled, overwhelming the basement with the sound. Fred could feel his friend's orgasm pulse inside him, and trickle down the back of his legs. Shaggy's long muscled form fell forward, dragging them both down, pinning Fred against the floor. The spent cock slipped from him. Fred panted and shook, unable to think. The freakish arms embraced him.  
“Lemme bite you, man,” Shaggy said. Fred went cold. 

“Think about it, we could fuck like this all the time, in the woods, with the moon and shit,” Shaggy went on, “We could just run across the country, and tear the bad guys into little fucking pieces, instead of messing with police and jail and all this secret society bull.” Fred cast about for a weapon, stammering the first thing that came to his mind in an effort to distract the werewolf. 

“Shag, what about Daphne and Velma?”

“What about 'em?” Shaggy answered, and licked Fred's neck, “c'mon, Freddie, it'd be like this all the time. Fuck, I know you enjoyed it; I can smell your cum everywhere!”

“What if-what if I like it like this? Being all small and weak, when you're so, uh, big and strong?”  
That seemed to arrest Shaggy's attention for a moment, and Fred fixed his eyes on the potent plant that he knew would save him, dragged within reach of the cell when Shaggy had caught him. It was just beyond the bars, at the edge of his grasp; he only hoped it wouldn't be fatal to his friend. 

“Aww, don't worry, Fred, I'll always be your alpha, buddy,” Shaggy giggled inhumanly and Fred felt the heat from his giant, yawning maw, “Hold still, Freddie-boy...”  
Fred heaved himself forward from beneath Shaggy's bulk, seizing a brimming handful of plant-matter and scattered Scooby-Snacks. He cast them over his shoulder, stuffing them into Shaggy's looming muzzle. The werewolf fell away, coughing and sputtering as he was forced to choke the mouthful down. He gasped, clutching at his bulging throat and crawling from Fred's side. Finally, he managed to swallow and made a retching noise.

“Did you- did you just, like...?” Shaggy's wolf-eyes went wide at Fred's betrayal.

Fred grabbed hold of the bars and hoisted himself to his feet. “I'm sorry, Shag; I couldn't risk both of us being out of commission.”

Shaggy rolled onto his side, clutching his belly, “Fuck, Freddie, you know I hate eating that shit dry. Like, bake it into a brownie next time, or something, man.”  
Shaggy's voice was rising out of his chest, becoming the familiar, frenetic warble Fred was used to. 

“Did the snacks help at all?” Fred asked.

Shaggy smacked his ample tongue against his palette, “Not really. How long have we had those, man? Tasted stale.”  
Fred laughed and let himself slide back down to the floor, assured that his friend was in his right mind. 

“Zoinks! It's like, totally kicking in, Freddie,” Shaggy declared, rolling onto his back. His pupils dilated, swallowing his yellow irises, “Jeeze, you did grab the good shit, huh?”

The adrenaline ebbed from Fred's system as he allowed himself to enjoy the sight of a royally-stoned werewolf marveling at the support beams of the basement ceiling.

“Oh, fuck, Freddie!” Shaggy whimpered, “I-I'm sorry, man! What I did- I didn't mean...I didn't want it to be rape...” 

He snuffled out whining sobs. Fred reflected. Yes, he supposed he had been raped but he was too electrified, too ecstatic to have escaped Shaggy's attack undamaged and unchanged to pay the matter any concern. And... ...there had been a part of him that had enjoyed it: the small, dark part of him that had gotten hard at Shaggy's growls and chafed at having to tiptoe around his father and eschew a sex-life for the sake of appearances. That part of him had reveled in the loss of control, at the thrill of the fear and absolute submission. He'd been a leader for so long that it had been a relief and a pleasure to surrender himself. It had been a temptation to let Shaggy sink his teeth in, and run wild together in a frenzy of blood and sex. 

“We'll talk about it in the morning, Shag,” Fred assured his friend, “Right now, I'm just glad to have you back.”

Shaggy sniffed and shook his head in a dazed and distant nod. He passed out. Behind him, Fred heard the basement door open with a twin exclamation of “Jinkies!” and “Freddie!”. Too exhausted to be embarrassed, he stood and turned to the two women, cupping one hand over his groin, and holding out the other, between the bars.

“Hey, gang,” he said, “I think Shag's starting to go back to normal, now. Wanna hand me the potion, Daph?”  
Agape, Daphne walked forward, handing Fred a stoppered bottle of purple fluid. As soon as she had relinquished it, her shock hardened into concern.

“Oh my god, Freddie! What did he do to you? You're all scratched and you're...dripping.”

Fred raised his chin in a gesture of dignity, “I'm fine, Daph,” he assured, “Just a little sore,” 

“You mean he actually-? Freddy we've gotta get you to a hospital! You could be bleeding!” 

Velma spoke up from the door; her tone was businesslike, her face passive. “Did he bite you, Fred?”

Fred shook his head, “No. He tried to, but I crammed a bunch of weed and scooby-snacks into his mouth, and that brought him to himself,”  
Velma nodded, sagely.

“Where is Scoob, by the way? Thought he'd want to be here to see Shaggy get better,”

Daphne shook her head, “He's helping the coven locate the werewolf, the-the other werewolf... ...and we wanted him there, in case the potion doesn't work. Scrappy is with him, for what that's worth.”

Fred approached the unconscious werewolf, despite a warning from Daphne. He knelt and shook Shaggy by the shoulder. “Hey pal, need you to drink this before you go back to sleep, okay?” 

Shaggy's eyes fluttered open and he parted his jaws, allowing Fred to tilt the bottle's contents down his throat. The werewolf sputtered, coughed, and went still. Almost immediately, Fred could see small, steady changes creeping over his friend's form: the fur began to thin; the claws receded a few inches, into fingernails; the length of the freakish limbs began to dwindle. His breathing was slow and steady. The three conscious members of Mystery Inc. heaved a collective sigh of relief. 

“Velma, could you grab me some clothes?” Fred asked, “Daphne, I think I see the key to the cell over there, by a scrap of my jeans.” 

Velma slipped out of the room. Daphne took up the key and turned it in the lock. 

“I still think you should go to the hospital, Freddie,” she said, “Shaggy can't of been very gentle.”

“I'm fine Daph, I promise.” Fred said as sank into the chair, “he wasn't any rougher than what I'm used to.”

Daphne rolled her eyes, defiantly. “Fred, you and I both know toys aren't the same thing as the genuine article; Shaggy could've really done some damage,”

“Really, Daph, he wasn't that bad. I think...I think the real Shaggy was in there and wanted it to be good for both of us.”

Daphne stared at Fred for a uncomfortable span of seconds, in that piercing, perceptive way that always made him feel like a suspicious 12-year-old. At last she turned away, “Well, the good news is lycanthropy isn't an STI.” Fred snorted. Velma returned with the clothes, about-facing demurely, as he dressed. 

“Y'know, Freddie,” she began, carefully, “no one would blame you if you needed to get away for a while, given what happened. I don't imagine it'll be easy to be around Shaggy, tomorrow, even if what he did, he didn't do in his right mind.”

Fred pulled a shirt down over his head and gazed at the rapidly humanizing werewolf, unconscious on the floor. “No, it's okay, Velm; Shaggy and I have some stuff to talk about, when he comes around,”


End file.
